The Gravity of Words
by kitten4979
Summary: Mostly unrelated and random chapters based on prompts from a 100 Quills challenge. Jisbon/Jello/Lane centered but they will not necessarily be the entire focus. The rest of the team needs love too. Warning: some AU and/or OOCness may ensue.
1. Broken

**A/N **- I got this idea while reading a story by StarDuchess, who in turn got this idea from a challenge from 100 quills. One word = one chapter. (All definitions are from Merriam Webster unless otherwise noted.) If you like the chapter/story, please let me know, it keeps the muse happy. If you don't like it, please let me know, it lets the muse grow and learn.

Thanks for stopping by,  
k

---

**BROKEN**  
/ˈbrō-kən/ adjective.  
Violently separated into parts.  
Not complete or full.

The enormity of the situation hits Patrick Jane squarely in the chest, effectively pushing all of the oxygen out of his lungs, as he quietly steps onto the dilapidated porch. The gravity of their conversation weighs heavily on him as he replays it in his mind. The sadness and pain in her eyes does not go unnoticed by him. Neither does the tension and emotion underlying her carefully chosen words.

He grits his teeth as he comes to terms with the reality that in his crazed need to have his vengeance, to catch the man who had murdered his wife and child years ago, he has blindly and foolishly flung another woman he cares deeply for in front of harm's way. He has all but gift wrapped her for him.

Red John had been there; listening to their conversations, watching the events unfold right in front of him on the surveillance televisions. It makes Patrick want to scream in agony, in frustration that his nemesis now knows Teresa Lisbon's face. That he now knows her voice. That he now knows her.

It maddens Patrick to know that she is no longer safe from Red John or his wrath, but he knows what he must do to protect his dear Lisbon, even though it will break his already broken heart further.

---

Next: **Attention**


	2. Attention

**ATTENTION**  
/ə-ˈten(t)-shən/ noun.  
Consideration with a view to action.  
An act of civility or courtesy especially in courtship.

Wayne Rigsby is already man of few words – few, but at least more than his colleague Kimball Cho. It is not because he is socially awkward or dimwitted, far from it. He just doesn't like to waste his energy on talking when he could be doing instead. If nothing else, Wayne Rigsby is a man of action.

That is, until Grace Van Pelt entered his life.

Being around her causes the proverbial butterflies to flutter in his stomach. It makes him ridiculously tongue-tied. It slows his brain's synapses so much he usually ends up finding himself uttering nonsensical sentences to her – if you can call them sentences.

Luckily, Patrick Jane sympathizes with Wayne and he, being a natural charmer, agrees to help his friend win over the girl of his dreams. He starts off slowly, teaching him the subtleties and nuances of human behavior before moving on to women and more specifically, Grace. After a few lessons, Patrick is impressed with his pupil. However, just when Patrick thinks that Wayne is ready for the next step, he is thrown five very large steps backwards.

Next to Patrick on the picnic table, Wayne is rendered absolutely speechless at the sight of Grace licking a vanilla ice cream cone on a warm spring day. Patrick sighs and cannot help but feel a little disappointed at his student. It's just a simple ice cream cone, for crying out loud. What's so seductive about that? Kids eat them all the time.

But then he sees Teresa Lisbon walk out of the ice cream parlor with her own chocolate ice cream cone and his eyes instantly fixate on her tongue as it slips past her lips to lick the cold treat. As she nears her team, Patrick finds that he cannot break his gaze from her mouth. He is mesmerized as he watches her tongue flick and swirl over the dessert in long, methodical strokes. He suddenly feels something stirring inside of him, something that he thought that he would never feel again. Without a doubt, Patrick Jane will never view such a simple delicacy as simple anymore.

---

**Next: **Possessive


	3. Possessive

**A/N - **Thank you everyone for your reviews, they give me the warm fuzzies!

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**POSSESSIVE  
**/pə-ˈze-siv/ adjective.  
Manifesting possession or the desire to own or dominate.

They lay in bed, exhausted from their strenuous but extremely satisfying session of lovemaking. In the darkened room, the couple's bodies are tangled in both the bed sheets and each other. She lays her head on his bare chest, her arm wrapped loosely around his torso, her leg thrown haphazardly over his as he absentmindedly strokes her hair. She lets out a contented sigh as her eyelids flutter closed. She is nearly asleep when he suddenly flips her onto her back. She lets out a surprised yelp before opening her eyes. She shivers when she discovers him hovering over her, effectively trapping her underneath him. He briefly holds her gaze before sweetly kissing her on her nose.

"Mine," he simply states.

She rolls her eyes and prepares a retort to his childish act, but finds her will to spar with him dissipate when he begins to lavish every inch over her naked body with his lips and tongue.

"Mine," he declares with each kiss.

Her mind goes blank as her body reacts instinctively to his caresses. Yes, his, she finally finds the ability to utter. She will always be his.

---

Next: **Sacrifice**


	4. Sacrifice

**SACRIFICE**  
/ˈsa-krə-ˌfīs/ noun.  
Destruction or surrender of something for the sake of something else.

A gunshot crackles through the calm desert air. Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon whips around to see Sheriff Dumar Hardy pointing a gun at her forehead. She reads the crazed gleam in his eyes. He has marked her for death – quick and clean, just as he promised.

Her heart is racing, her adrenaline pumping. Her years of training at the police academy and with the CBI have prepared her for this very moment. She is unsure if she will get it out of this scenario unscathed, but she knows that she is ready.

She will give her life for the greater good.

Teresa knows though it should not have come down to this – what incompetent idiot didn't think to frisk the good sheriff and search him for a handcuff key – that even with her gone, Patrick Jane will still have Red John's accomplice. She knows that her team will continue to help their consultant in his quest for justice. And at the end of the night, they will have still saved a life. She will give her life to save Maya Plaskett from this murderous son of a bitch.

As she reaches to unhook her gun from its holster, she hears the boom of another shot fired.

---

Next: **Patience**


	5. Patience

**PATIENCE**  
/ˈpā-shən(t)s/ noun.  
An ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay.

Red John waits. He is always waiting. Waiting for the perfect moment to finish what he has started. It has been ten long years since he made Patrick Jane pay for his arrogance. Ten long years of cat and mouse. He was almost caught once because that agent Patrick is always with turns out to be wilier than Red John gives her credit for.

But he likes that. That bit of spunk. He finds that he cannot fault Agent Lisbon. She is just doing her job. Besides, she makes for a better challenge. She puts Patrick on even ground with him, though she is not who he wants. He does not need her.

No, he still wants only that blonde haired phony. His demise will be at Red John's hands and no one else's. But first, he has to separate Agent Lisbon from his prey.

He calmly takes a sip from his porcelain tea cup as he watches Patrick and Teresa Lisbon from the comfort and safety of his new hideaway. He observes the duo, suddenly catching the tenderness in Patrick's action as he brushes a stray tendril behind the woman's ear. A smirk plays across Red John's lips.

Perhaps there will be use for the dear agent, after all.

---

**A/N - **Definition from dictionary .com


	6. Jealousy

**JEALOUSY  
**/ˈje-lə-sē/ noun.  
Mental uneasiness from suspicion or fear of rivalry, unfaithfulness, etc.  
Vigilance in maintaining or guarding something.

"Tell her. Before it's too late."

Patrick Jane turns to see Wayne Rigsby and Kimball Cho eyeing him. "What?" Patrick asks, feigning ignorance. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

Wayne shakes his head chuckling, "For a mentalist, you sure are dense sometimes."

"Me? Dense?"

"Yes, you," Kimball chimes in. "Just bite the bullet and tell her how you feel."

"And how do I feel?" Patrick muses.

"You're in love with her," Wayne shrugs. "The mere thought of her with another man is driving you up the wall right now."

Patrick waves them off, "Meh. Your crush on Van Pelt is making you soft, Rigsby. And you, Cho, have been reading too many novels, so you're both seeing things that aren't really there. Besides, like I'd ever take love advice from either of you – Mr. Lost Puppy and Mr. Stoic."

Wayne and Kimball exchange knowing glances, but remain silent before taking sips from their beers. If their friend wants to be stubborn about it, so be it. They will sit back and enjoy the show – for now, at least.

Ignoring his co-workers, Patrick sits back in his seat, silently sulking as he watches Teresa Lisbon converse with a tall, dark and handsome male at the bar. He scowls as she throws her head back, letting out a loud and appreciative laugh, exposing her porcelain neck. He clenches his jaw as the man reaches out and pushes a stray tendril behind her ear, cupping her cheek lightly afterwards.

He cannot ignore the gnawing, growing pit expanding in the bottom of his stomach as he continues to watch the scene in front of him. Who is this man? And why is he allowed to even be within three feet of her, let alone be allowed to touch his Lisbon. His. Patrick Jane's. Not… this thing's. She is his – Patrick's Teresa. Unable to suppress the urge any longer, and much to his friends' surprise, he swiftly gets up from his chair and strolls towards the couple.

"There you are, sweetheart," he beams as he nears them, his arms wide open. Teresa cocks her head at him in confusion before he envelopes her and kisses her on the cheek. "I've been looking all over for you, my dearest," he grins before turning and extending his hand to the man. "Patrick, nice to meet you. I see you've already met my wife."

---

**A/N - **Again, thank you to everyone who is reading and/or reviewing. You know who you are. You rock and I love you for it. I'm not completely overjoyed with this installment, so there may be a rewrite later on.

Definition from dictionary .com


	7. Quarrel

A continuation from **Jealousy**...

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**QUARREL**  
/ˈkwȯr(-ə)l/ intransitive verb_._  
To contend or dispute actively.

Anger boils inside Teresa Lisbon as she watches the man had just been conversing with skulk away. What in the hell just happened? One moment, she was having a pleasant conversation with a perfectly nice gentleman, the next moment, he is gone. She glares at the blonde haired man beaming at her. The man that has replaced her earlier counterpart.

"Jane," she spits, slapping him in the chest. "What was that for?"

"Ow. That hurt," he grins at her as he rubs his chest. "I was saving you, my dear," he announces proudly.

Her eyebrows shoot up in amusement, "Really? Saving me? From who? The big bad wolf? I'm not Little Red Riding Hood, Jane. I can take care of myself."

Patrick Jane reaches out and cups her smooth cheek. "I know you can, Lisbon," he whispers. "But trust me; you didn't want anything to do with that guy."

"And how would you know?" she seethes, batting his hand away from her face. "You strolled up here like the King of England and scared him away with that 'wife' business."

Patrick unsuccessfully suppresses a chuckle, causing Teresa to teeter over the edge. The man is infuriating. She gets up to leave and return to the table with the rest of the team when Patrick grabs her hand.

"I'm sorry, Lisbon. That was uncalled for," he says as sincerely as possible. "But really, you didn't want anything to do with that guy. He wasn't your type."

"What is my type?" she challenges. "You know, never mind. I don't you to pull that freaky psychic reading business on me."

"Well," Patrick starts. "You definitely don't want a man that's married."

"What?"

"He had a tan line on his ring finger," Patrick explains.

"He could be recently divorced," she points out.

Patrick shrugs, "Maybe. But highly doubtful."

"Highly doubtful because that means that I would be right and the great Patrick Jane would be wrong?" she muses.

"No, highly doubtful because I saw him slip his ring back on to his finger while he was slithering away from us."

Teresa groans, "Why? Why can't I… I just… I just want to be able to meet a nice guy. Maybe someone I can settle down with, have a nice house and a dog in the suburbs, someone to have some kids with…"

Patrick nods in understanding as he strokes her hand with his thumb, "He'd be a very lucky man. But you already know plenty of nice guys, Lisbon."

"Really?" she questions. "Who?"

"There's Rigsby and Cho," he shrugs, garnering him a shove in his shoulder. "Ow, woman. Use words, not violence."

Teresa rolls her eyes at him, "Okay, first of all, they're my subordinates. Second of all, genius, we all know that Rigsby is madly in love with Van Pelt and Cho is like a brother to me. Not that I need any more, but he is. And if you say Minelli, besides the fact that he is already married and he's my boss, I will punch you into the middle of next week."

"Okay," Patrick concedes, nodding his head in agreement. "So what about me?"

"What about you?" she asks, confusion evident on her face.

"I'm a nice guy," he points out.

"No, you're not," she contends. "You manipulate and humiliate me at every chance you get. That hardly qualifies you as 'nice' in my book. Besides," she pauses, smiling sadly at him. "You're married."


	8. Cemetery

**CEMETERY**  
/ˈse-mə-ˌter-ē/ noun.  
A place for burying the dead; a graveyard.

"I thought I'd find you here," Teresa Lisbon says quietly as she walks up to him.

Patrick Jane does not turn to greet her. They stand side by side in silence, looking at the marble markers in front of them. She places a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm failing them," he says softly.

"No, you're not," she says, shaking her head.

"But I am, Lisbon," he sighs. "It's been seven years to the day and I'm no closer to catching Red John."

She nods solemnly. "Yes, Jane, it's been seven years. But we," she stresses. "We are going to find him. We are going to bring him to justice. He will be punished for what he has done. You are not alone, Jane. You have friends. You have people who want to help you, people who care about you. I wish you'd get that through your thick skull."

"You have such a way with words, dear Lisbon," Patrick smirks, still unwilling to meet her gaze. "My memories of them are fading. Tell me how am I not failing them when I'm beginning to forget them?"

"Tell me about them," she prods. Patrick cocks his head at her quizzically. "Tell me about them," she repeats earnestly. "You obviously love and miss your wife and daughter very much. Talking about the ones you loved and lost help keep their memory alive."

He smiles sardonically, "I thank you for your attempt to comfort me, Lisbon, but I know that you don't really want to hear me wallow."

"My mother was beautiful," she says simply, instantly captivating Patrick's attention. "My father, my brothers, and I were her world and we all adored her. She was the love of my father's life, even though they were nothing alike. She was feisty and he was more… calm and methodic. But they worked. They loved and complimented each other very well. I remember that she had a gorgeous voice. She studied at Julliard for a little bit before she met and fell in love with my father. When my brothers and I were little, after my father read us our bedtime stories, she would come to our rooms and sing to us. Some nights, they were standard lullabies. Other nights, they would be Irish limericks if she was feeling particularly ornery. But my favorites were when she would sing an aria for us. Every time I hear 'O Mio Babbino Caro,' it reminds me of her. After a hard case, I go home and listen to that song and I think of her. And I hope that I make her proud of whom I've become, of what I've done." She takes a deep breath, "The night she was taken away from us, everything changed. When she was killed by a drunk driver, the family and the life that I knew growing up was torn to shreds. My father became obsessed with finding the person who killed her. He hounded the local police. He became a completely different person, withdrawn, moody; he spiraled into becoming a terrible alcoholic. He was horribly verbally and emotionally abusive. I think it was the alcohol and depression that made him do and say the things that he did to me and my brothers. At least, that is what I hope."

"I'm so sorry, Lisbon," Patrick whispers, taking her hand from his shoulder and placing it into his.

She smiles sadly, "I know that somewhere out there, he and my mother are happy. That they have found each other again."

"Thank you," Patrick says as he kisses her cheek, "Thank you for telling me about your mother, for telling me about your father, for opening up to me. I know how difficult that was for you. And I hope that one day; I will be able to do the same."

She squeezes his hand, "When you are ready, I will be here."

---

**A/N - **Definition from dictionary .com


	9. Discipline

**DISCIPLINE**  
/ˈdi-sə-plən/ noun.  
Orderly or prescribed conduct or pattern of behavior.  
A rule or system of rules governing conduct or activity.

He works diligently to get her attention. He seeks her out in a crowd. He catches her eye from across the room. He disarms her with his smile.

He is determined. He will have her. And what he wants, he usually gets. It is the way of the world.

He is not sure when the desire to possess her consumed him, but it did. As sure as the sky is blue and the earth revolves around the sun. He has never felt such a longing for one person as he does for her.

He patiently courts her. He gives her time and space. He is rewarded with her friendship. He tries to win her trust. He does not push too hard. He does not want to frighten her.

She is an enigma. She is an anomaly. She is one in a million.

He wants to unravel the mystery that is her. He wants to get past the façade. He wants to be the only one who knows the real her.

He feels her resistance. He knows that she does not want to be a rebound. He knows that she is as broken as he is. He does not want to fix her. He loves her the way that she is.

When she pulls away from him, sometimes he lets her go. She knows where to find him if she ever needs him. He trusts her to do that. He will always be there for her.

One day, he will see that she seeks him out in a crowd. That she tries to catch his eye from across the room. That she is his. That she has been since the first time they met. In the end, he will be rewarded for his efforts.


	10. Motion

**MOTION**  
/ˈmō-shən/ noun.  
An act, process, or instance of changing place  
An act or instance of moving the body or its parts

They have worked together on countless cases. They are beginning to know each other's innermost secrets and thoughts. Well, at least Teresa Lisbon is getting better at reading Patrick Jane. She still has a long way to go before she is on equal footing with the man. But their chemistry is undeniable, whether or not the two are willing to admit it. This is why they are where they are now – undercover, masquerading as a young couple in love at a seedy dive bar, trying to draw out a serial killer.

At first, they are nervous and tentative with each other. Not quite as awkward as Grace Van Pelt and Wayne Rigsby would have been, though the couple would have also made perfect sense if only Virgil Minelli thought that Grace had enough field experience. So Patrick and Teresa stand at the bar, downing a few shots of tequila to calm their nerves.

After they have had enough liquor to subdue their senses, she smiles shyly at him and asks if he wants to dance. He is mesmerized by her beauty, the way her raven locks fall in front of her face, by her sudden vulnerability. He wants to, but he has not danced with another woman since his wife died. So he shakes his head. Not yet, maybe later, he promises. She shrugs as she finishes her beer before making her way to the tiny crowded dance floor alone.

He smiles at her boldness and is struck by the way her body gyrates to the music. He sucks in his breath as he watches her hips sway seductively in beat to the tune. He has never seen her so uninhibited before. Where did she learn to move like that? It does not take long before men begin to gravitate to her, which Patrick finds that he does not take kindly to.

He cannot deny the jealousy brewing inside him; he doesn't like the strangers preying on her like she is fresh meat. He takes one last swig of his beer and closes their tab. He calmly stalks his way to Teresa, surrounded by three men, each eyeing her with predatory gleams in their eyes. He nudges his way into the circle and takes hold of her waist, drawing her away from the crowd. Amid the squalls of the men, he spins her so she is flush with his body. She looks at him questioningly, curious that he has the same gleam in his eyes as the other men. Her question is answered when he stakes his claim on her by capturing her lips with his.

---

**A/N - **Song Lisbon is dancing to - "Closer" by Ne-Yo; Song inspiring this chapter - "Take Me On The Floor" by The Veronicas

The next prompt is **Sarcasm**. Oddly enough, I am having some problems getting it started. I don't know if it's because the muse is exhausted from posting two chapters in one day or what, but if anyone has any suggestions, please PM me. Thank you! -k


	11. Sarcasm

A slight continuation from **Quarrel**...

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**SARCASM**  
/ˈsär-ˌka-zəm/ noun.  
A mode of satirical wit depending for its effect on bitter, caustic, and often ironic language that is usually directed against an individual.

He feels her pulse quicken under his fingertips as her words ring clearly in his ears.

"Besides, you're married."

There is a sadness in her green eyes. A slight slump in her shoulders. A twinge of regret in her tone. But there is no hint of sarcasm or malice in her statement.

He knows that it is a blanket that keeps her warm at night. It is her defense mechanism. It is a skill that she has honed since she was a child. It protects her from anyone ever getting too close, from getting too personal. It has always worked for her before. But then he strolled into her life.

And try as she might, her sharp tongue and wit cannot even keep her safe from the charm and charisma of Patrick Jane. Nor can it keep him away from her.

He knows that she never means him any harm – intentional or not. It is part of the reason why he feels that he has ironically fallen under her spell. He appreciates her hardened edges and wicked way with words and how it contrasts and defies everything that he thought that he loved. It is part of the reason he is ready to make a leap of faith with her.

---

**A/N - **I really struggled with this one, and though I feel this is neither complete nor my best work, I've decided to make peace with it after fifty drafts (okay, five). Please feel free to pick this (and/or any other chapter) apart. I'm a big girl, I can take constructive criticism. Thanks, k


	12. Never

**NEVER**  
/ˈne-vər/ adverb.  
Not ever**; **at no time  
Not in any degree; not under any condition

There are certain things that Kimball Cho had come to terms with that he will never see in his lifetime.

The first being world peace. Though he hopes that one day it will come, he is well aware that if does occur any time soon, he will be out of a job. And he is pretty sure that his interrogation skills have not prepared him to do much other than fighting crime and righting the wrongs done to innocent people.

The second thing is witnessing fellow agent Wayne Rigsby's insatiable hunger finally being satisfied. Kimball greatly respects the man; he considers the arson expert to be one of his closest friends. They get along amazingly well, it is no accident that they are often assigned to work together. But Kimball has yet to find his friend not hungry or without a snack in hand.

The last item, the one Kimball was most confident in never occurring, is seeing his unflappable boss, Teresa Lisbon, become flustered. He has worked with Teresa for many years; they were partners for nearly five years. Kimball likes the feisty agent. Though her sarcasm could cut a lesser man down within seconds, Kimball spars with her, forging a bond with the petite brunette that Virgil Minelli did not want to break. So when she was promoted to senior agent within the serious crimes unit, Kimball happily followed. He is in awe of her ferocity, having seen Teresa take down men twice her size – by herself. She is cool. She is calm. She is collected. Her hardened exterior lets very little get to her.

Then Patrick Jane joined their team and all hell broke loose.

Kimball is amazed the blonde haired consultant can get under her skin the way that he does. He has never seen Teresa blush as much as she does whenever Patrick is near – and that is only when he is there to see it. There is no telling what happens whenever they are off on their own during cases. Though she claims that the consultant irritates her to no end, Kimball sees past her annoyance. He is able to recognize that there is an underlying current between the two. There is an undeniable attraction.

Kimball jumps as the door to Teresa's office suddenly opens. She glares at Patrick, sitting on his worn leather couch, before stalking off to the break room for a cup of coffee. After she passes, Kimball notices that Patrick has been meticulously folding paper cranes.

"What did you do this time?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Meh," Patrick shrugs. "I may have kissed her."

"On purpose?"

Patrick merely grins widely at Kimball as Teresa glowers at the two men before slamming her office door shut again.

Maybe there is hope for world peace and Wayne's appetite after all.

---

**A/N - **I love you all for reading/reviewing/story alerting! I'm sorry I don't always reply to reviews personally, it is something I am working on doing.

I finally worked Cho in - yay! The next prompt is **Accusation** (or something along those lines, I don't have it in front of me currently) and I hope to have it posted later tonight. Again, love you all!


	13. Accusation

**ACCUSATION**  
/ˌa-kyə-ˈzā-shən/ noun.  
A charge of wrongdoing

"Jane!" she bellows from her office, furiously rummaging through her desk.

The bullpen freezes at the sound of their boss's frustrated and angry voice. The three agents exchange quick, terrified glances with each other before sliding their gazes to the sleeping form on the beaten leather couch.

"Jane!" she calls out again, finally rousing Patrick Jane from his nap.

He mumbles something unintelligible as he sits up and rubs his tired eyes. He leisurely stretches his arms above his head as he yawns loudly.

"JANE!" she screams for the final time.

He wordlessly gets up from his couch and trudges towards her office. Wayne Rigsby gives him a consolatory pat on the back as they pass while Kimball Cho and Grace Van Pelt give him small encouraging smiles when he walks by their desks. He shrugs nonchalantly at them.

"Yes, Teresa," Patrick sings as he leans against her doorframe.

He smirks as she throws him a death glare. He briefly muses if he will ever stop finding humor in their banter before calmly taking a seat in a chair in front of her desk.

"Where is it, Jane?" she says evenly.

"Where's what, dear Teresa?" he beams beatifically at her.

"You know what I mean," she says menacingly as she gets out of her chair and hovers over him.

"Dearest, Teresa, I do not know of what you speak of."

"Damn it, Jane. I know you hid my secret stash of chocolate from me. Now. Where. Is. It?"

"My, my, you certainly are particularly feisty today," he teases gleefully.

"Jane, I do have a gun and I do know how to use it," she warns him.

"Calm down, woman," he chides her. "Sit tight and relax before you hurt yourself. I'll be right back," he says as he leans her against the edge of her desk and hastily exits her office.

He avoids the three agent's stares as he quickly removes something from his suit jacket. He merely grins at them as he heads back towards Teresa's office.

"I couldn't help but notice that there was an empty box of Godiva chocolates in your trash can when you left last night," he explains upon his return. "I knew that you would forget that you ate them all, so I stopped by and got you this," he smiles as he pulls an extra large candy bar from behind his back. He pauses to admire the way her eyes light up at the small gesture. "Now, it's no Godiva, but I figure it will at least tide you over for the rest of the afternoon."

Teresa hardly hears his last sentence as she fixates on the delicious piece of heaven in his hand. She slowly reaches out for the outstretched candy bar.

"Uh, uh," he says playfully as he pulls it back from her reach. "Remember your manners. What do you we say first?"

Numerous emotions play across Teresa's face as Patrick toys with her. Confusion. Horror. Murderous rage. He frowns at her.

"Thank you," she says quickly.

"And?"

She glares at him. "I'm sorry," she mumbles.

"For?"

"Jane, don't push it."

"Teresa..."

"I'm sorry for accusing you of stealing my chocolates," she pouts.

"There. Was that so hard? You're welcome and I accept your apology," he nods triumphantly as he resumes taking his seat in front of her desk. "Besides," he says as he places a loving kiss on her swollen pregnant belly. "Do you think I would be dumb enough to get between you and chocolate right now?"


	14. Torn

**TORN**  
/ˈtȯrn/ verb.  
To divide or disrupt by the pull of contrary forces.

The gruesome scene, seeing his wife and child lying in a pool of their blood, still haunts him.

People say that time heals all wounds. Patrick Jane is not one of those people. Though the pain has dulled over the years, there is not a moment that goes by that he doesn't miss his murdered wife and child dearly. A precious part of him died the evening he found them senselessly murdered in their home. Their deaths were his fault, and no one else's as far as he is concerned. If only he only he hadn't taunted… If only.

He spiraled into a pit of despair after the tragedy, spending years drowning in remorse and mourning his lost family. He will never replace them. He never can, nor does he ever want to. He is doomed to walk the earth alone and pay for his sins. Oh, how Patrick Jane has sinned in this life.

Lust.

Envy.

Greed.

Gluttony.

Pride.

Sloth.

He knows that he must atone for his sins. He practices the virtues chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, kindness and humility to the best of his abilities in hopes of seeing his family in heaven. But there is one sin that he cannot atone for.

Wrath. Patrick Jane will have his vengeance for his beautiful wife and innocent daughter. Red John will pay for his actions so they can rest in peace. Until then, Patrick will have none. His wrath will bring justice. No one can stand in his way.

But one person.

It tears at him to know that if he carries out his vengeance, he will become deprived of the one thing that has brought him sanity and happiness after years of loneliness. He had not planned on falling in love with anyone after his wife died. He had taken a vow to forsake all others for her on their wedding day. But the argumentative, feisty woman next to him turned out to be everything he never knew he always wanted.

He finds a peace he never thought he would have with her and the chance to have a future together. He sees in her and their unborn child his second chance to live, to love. They will not replace the memory of his first family, nor does she ever want them to. She knows that there is enough room in his heart for all of them. Her compassion for him makes him love her more.

He gazes at Teresa Lisbon as she sleeps soundly beside him in their bed. He finds joy in seeing her at rest, the tranquil expression on her face. She lies on her side with one hand resting protectively over her eight and a half month pregnant belly. He reaches out and pushes a fallen tendril away from her angelic face, his fingers lingering on her smooth cheek.

He does not want to lose her. But he cannot rest knowing Red John is still alive. Until then, a new nightmare of seeing Teresa and their child hunted down by his nemesis will continue to disturb his rest.

---

**A/N - **Sorry this one installment is a little jumpy and rambles, I think my impending move is already affecting (or is it effecting? I never can keep those straight...) me and my muse. The next couple of weeks are going to be pretty hectic, so I'm not sure how often I will be able to update. Thank you for everyone's kind reviews and patience!


	15. Heaven

**A/N - **This may have a slight bit of OOCness in it, depending on your interpretation of the characters as presented by Bruno Heller and his professional team of writers. Apologies to anyone who doesn't like that sort of thing.

As always, thank you to everyone who is reading/reviewing/alerting. Love you all and I'll stop rambling now...

---

**HEAVEN**  
/ˈhe-vən/ noun.  
A place or condition of utmost happiness.

Patrick Jane opens his eyes slowly. Confusion clouds his mind as he is greeted by the sight of his wife hovering over him with a concerned look upon her brow.

"Shh," she murmurs as she gently pushes back his blonde curls from his forehead.

He blinks rapidly before rubbing his eyes. She is still there, sitting on the edge of the couch. He reaches out to cup her cheek, gazing into her warm brown eyes. She sighs before closing her eyes as his thumb strokes her chin tenderly. She looks and feels so real… too real.

Realization dawns on him, causing him to bolt upright and leap off the couch. He takes in the contents of the room. They are in his former study. Books and memorabilia burst from the bookcases along the wall. His daughter's favorite doll lays on top one of the many stacks of paper that clutter his mahogany desk. No, this can't be…

"Where am I?" he demands. "You're… you're dead. And so's… so's our daughter. Am I dead?"

Still seated on the couch, his wife shrugs, "That's up to you, Patrick."

"What?" Patrick shakes his head, raking a hand through his hair. "What do you mean? What's up to me? Is this heaven? I don't even believe in heaven!"

Smiling, she gets up and walks toward him. She kisses him gently on the cheek. "This is whatever you want it to be, Patrick. This can be just a dream or this can be forever. That's up to you."

"So I'm dead," he says blandly. "Wonderful."

She shakes her head, laughing. "Don't be so dramatic, Patrick. You're not dead – at least, not yet. You're in between right now. You can choose to stay here, with me and our little dear one for all eternity, or you can go back to reality. Go back to living and breathing and doing good, righting the wrongs and making a difference in the world. You can go back to Teresa."

His brows crease. "What did you say?"

She cups his face in her hands, looking deeply into his eyes. "Go back to her."

"Go back to… but…"

His wife laughs once again. "Patrick, I know that you love me. I know that you love our daughter. I didn't doubt it when I was alive and I don't doubt it now. I never will. But you've changed since the last time we met and it's time for you to move on."

"I've changed? What is that supposed to mean?" he asks defensively. "You know what? Never you mind that. Yes, I may have changed, but I don't want to move on," he insists. "I belong here with you, with our daughter."

"We both know that that's not true," she says as she lounges back onto the couch.

"How do you know that?" he asks huffily, crossing his arms in defiance before plopping down next to her.

"We wouldn't be having this conversation if it were," she states simply. "You would have accepted this as your new reality flawlessly instead of being combative, upset at the thought of being dead." Patrick opens his mouth in protest, but she cuts him off. "Please don't think that I'm upset that you have reservations, Patrick, because I am not upset. In fact, it brings me relief."

"Relief?" he muses. "Really?"

"Yes," she nods. "Relief. It means that you still have a will to live. And though you're too blind to see it, I know that it's because of her. She completes you. She brings you peace. She grounds you. And if you'd ever open your eyes, you'd see that she brings you joy. Go back to her, Patrick. We know that there will always be a place for us in your heart. But we cannot and will not allow you to miss out on your chance at happiness, your chance to live and love again. You can stop denying that you need Teresa as much as she needs you."

"She needs me?" he chuckles mirthlessly.

"You don't believe me?" she raises her eyebrows. "Open your eyes, Patrick."

Patrick opens his eyes back to reality. His head is pounding and the infernal beep of his heart monitor is not helping matters. He blinks as he looks around the darkened and sterile room. A small television is mounted to the ceiling in the corner of the room, the blinds of the window tightly drawn. He has no idea what time it is, or what day for that matter. He licks his cracked and dry lips and swallows the little saliva in his mouth in hopes of quelling the parched feeling in his throat. He attempts to raise his arm to reach for the nurses call button, but finds that he cannot move. Something warm is pinning him down.

Teresa.

He is pleasantly surprised to find that the petite agent has curled herself next to him in his hospital bed, her arm draped across his torso, sleeping soundly for the moment. He shifts slightly to pull her in closer and deeply inhales the scent of her, relishing in the nearness of her body pressed against his. He kisses her forehead lightly before reaching out with his right hand and brushing her cheek softly, noticing the tear stains on her porcelain skin.

He knows that he should alert the hospital staff to the fact that he has regained consciousness, that he should rouse Teresa Lisbon from her rest. But for now, Patrick Jane is content with his time in heaven, grateful that he chose life.


	16. Regret

**REGRET**  
/ri-ˈgret/ verb.  
To mourn the loss or death of.

I should not have come here. I know it will be a mistake, but I cannot resist. I have to see her. Just one more time, then I can let her go.

I slip into the last pew unnoticed. The tiny church is full, creating an intimate gathering. I see our friends and coworkers sitting in the third pew. They have not saved me a seat. Why would they? They think that I am lying beachside somewhere in Mexico, drunk with some floozy, trying to forget her – which is what I had every intention of doing. But in the end, I could not. No, my desire for her pulled me back to Sacramento.

I sigh heavily as I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees. I gaze at the large crucifix before me. I am not a religious man. I am far from it. But I hedge my bets and I say a quick prayer to Saint Jude. This cannot be the way it ends. This is not the way it was supposed to be. It should be me. I should be the one. Me. But alas, it is not. Because fate seems to like to toy with me.

The string quartet begins to play and the doors behind me open. I stand and our eyes lock as she enters the room. All of the oxygen in my lungs has been sucked out. The world has stopped spinning. She is radiant, a vision of pure beauty. We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. A mixture of emotions flickers across her perfect features before she makes her way towards the front of the church. Looking ahead, I see my coworkers nod at me in sympathy. I drop my gaze as we all take our seats again and the ceremony begins.

I grip the pew in front of me, my knuckles dangerously white as the priest blesses the couple. It should be me standing with her in front of our friends and her family, taking the sacred vows of love and fidelity. My family should be here, not his. He should have never had a chance; he should not be standing where I should be. The regret mounting inside me makes me want to cry out loud.

I should not be here. This was a mistake, but I could not resist. I had to see her. Just one last time, then I will let her go.

"…as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"

She pauses. She scans the crowd briefly before our eyes meet once again. I hold my breath, on the edge of my seat. This is my chance, my final hope. I try to read her eyes from behind her veil. I am of half a mind to scream. I want to shout. I love her. I have always loved her. I will always love her. This is a mistake. This is an atrocity. She is mine. All mine. She belongs with me. We belong together.

Instead, my mouth is dry and I lose my nerve. I am silent, something I will be sorry for as long as I shall live. She deserves happiness, I tell myself. Not some damaged piece of crap like me that she has to fix. She smiles sadly at me before turning back to her groom. I close my eyes as I hear the words leave her lips, sealing our fate.

"I do."

I cannot be here. It is a mistake, but I did not resist. I have seen her. Just one last time, now I have to let her go.

---

**A/N - **I didn't really want to label this as Jisbon/Jello (or whatever the heck we're calling them now - what about Lane?) though they are who I had envisioned while writing this. I thought that this might be able to work for any pairing - Jace/Grisby/etc... anyone but slash, obviously. =)

The song inspiring this prompt is "Back of the Church" by Michelle Featherstone.


	17. Reunion

**REUNION**  
/(ˌ)rē-ˈyün-yən/ noun.  
A reuniting of persons after separation.

Patrick Jane disappeared from their lives a little over three years ago. His house was as he had left it. His car was still parked in the driveway. All of his windows and doors were tightly closed and locked. His keys were laid prominently on the bare kitchen countertop. There were no signs of forced entry or of a struggle. There were no fingerprints, other than his. There was no blood. There was no body. There were no clues or evidence. No note. No phone call. There was nothing. He had left without a trace, vanishing into thin air, as if he were merely a figment of their imagination.

His friends and coworkers had worked diligently, following every lead they could find for weeks, trying desperately to find answers – anything that would bring them to their lost consultant. But as the weeks turned into months, they began to lose hope. Their resolve and belief that they would find him began to falter. They bit back their disappointment and tears as Virgil Minelli formally announced that he was closing the case as unsolved.

His disappearance infuriated and enraged them. They were the best in their field and they could not find him. They had never felt more helpless as they did in those moments. As the anger subsided, remorse and guilt began to fill them. The feeling that they had failed him was eating away at them. The incessant nagging that they could or did not save him haunted them. They grappled with the reality and their grief but they knew that life must go on. It had to. He would not have wanted them this way.

The months slowly turned into years. They didn't have to heart to replace him. Though they stared longingly at the empty brown leather couch, wishing that he would reappear, they continued to solve cases. They still brought criminals to justice. They experienced new adventures. They met new people. They dated. They married. They lived their lives. They never forgot him.

Then one day, there is an anonymous call. The man known as Red John would be waiting for them at an abandoned warehouse outside of Sacramento. The team race into their standard issue SUVs and head towards the scene, playing back up to Agent Sam Glenn's team. A tiny bit of relief floods them when they see that it is as was promised to them. A man is seated in front of several television monitors inside the sparse space, his arms and legs tied to the chair he is sitting in.

They take him into custody and run his DNA through, matching him to several murders, including Emma Plaskett and Patrick Jane's wife and daughter. Sure enough, they are face to face with their consultant's nemesis. The teams' emotions run high. Here is the link to their friend's disappearance. After Agent Glenn's team is finished with their line of questioning, they are allowed their turn.

"We do this by the book," Teresa Lisbon warns. "I don't want this piece of crap walking on a technicality."

"We always do, Boss," Kimball Cho nods before heading into the interrogation room.

But hours of questions and meandering answers begin to wear on the Asian agent. He uncharacteristically begins to lose his cool and patience.

"Where is Patrick Jane?" he suddenly explodes, thoroughly exasperated by the piece of evil in front of him.

Red John merely looks at the one way mirror before laughing demonically, "Tell me, is that pretty little agent Teresa Lisbon back there?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, he was always so fond of her. But it was quite obvious that he was conflicted about his feelings for her. The way he would follow her like a lost little puppy was so endearing to me. A feisty little firecracker, she is. I think that it's interesting how he fell in love with someone who is nothing like his wife. Don't you? Ah well. I was so looking forward to meeting dearest Lisbon before…"

"Stop it," Kimball says with chilling calm. "Tell us where Patrick Jane is now."

"Jane is dead," Red John sniffs. "I killed him three years ago."

And like that, they have lost him all over again. Wayne Rigsby's wife and fellow agent, Grace, sobs into his chest as he soothes her, running his fingers through her hair and stroking her back. He quietly leads her out of the observation room; she does not need to hear this in her delicate, pregnant condition. The senior agent remains eerily quiet; watching her best interrogator engage in a staring contest with the murderous fiend.

"You're lying," Kimball finally states before straightening his papers and standing. "And when we find him, there will be hell to pay."

This isn't the way it's supposed end. Kimball nods at his boss as he makes his way back to his desk to write up his notes. Teresa briefly debates on whether to question the bastard herself before logic grabs a hold of her. She is too emotional right now. Red John would only feed on it. Instead she gathers her strength and heads for home. She would make him crack tomorrow.

She sighs heavily as she unlocks her front door and plops onto her couch, not bothering to turn a light on. Finally alone in her empty apartment, she allows herself to cry. She begins to grieve for her lost friend again.

"Shh… Don't cry, Resa," a voice coos into her ear.

Startled, Teresa bolts up and instantly reaches for her gun, but a hand grips tightly onto her wrist.

"Resa, it's me. It's Patrick."

"Patrick?" she sputters as he releases her.

She reaches for the table side lamp. She sucks in her breath as the light illuminates his face. Her memories have not done him any justice. He smiles softly at her.

"Hi," he waves. "How are you?"

His nonchalance unleashes the years of pent up anger and frustration bubbling and toiling inside of her. "Where in the hell have you been?" she screams, leaping off the couch.

Patrick stands and reaches out for her. She bats his hand away angrily.

"Will you listen to me? Please?" he pleads with her. "Sit down and I will explain everything."

Teresa eyes him wearily but returns to her seat on her couch. She is careful to stay as far away as possible from the enigmatic man.

"Well?" she challenges him. "Talk."

"I had to keep you safe," he finally murmurs.

She raises her eyebrow at him. "I'm a big girl, Jane. And I know how to use a gun. I can take care of myself," she reasons.

Patrick nods, "Yes, but I couldn't take the chance."

She shakes her head in frustration, "What chance, Jane? I'm a cop. I'm always in danger."

"No, you were safe all this time. I made Agent Glenn promise to watch over you for me. I thought it was the least he could do for me since I've been in hiding for the last three years at his advice and order."

"Agent Sam Glenn's?" she seethes.

"You know him?" Patrick cannot help but muse. Seeing the deadly look in her eyes, he falters, "Intimately, I see. Ah…" He shifts uncomfortably. "But yes. It was integral that we needed everyone to believe that I was gone, that I was dead. Even Minelli. That way I could be assured that you were safe."

"So you left me – and the team – high and dry for the past three years? No phone call. No letter. No good-bye."

"Woman, I don't think that you're hearing me. I had to in order to protect you. I couldn't tell you. Especially since you're such a terrible liar."

"You're insufferable!" she bursts, erupting from the couch again. She stalks towards her bedroom, but Patrick catches up with her before she can slam the door on him.

"I'm insufferable?" he asks furiously, whipping her around to face him. "I lived in misery for the last three years of my life for you!"

"I never asked you to leave!" she shouts in his face. "You could have just as easily stayed right here."

"And put in you in danger?" he counters, gripping her arms. She stares defiantly into his eyes. "I've already lost one love of my life, I wasn't about to lose another," he tells her. "Why can't you get it through your thick head that I love you?"

Teresa blinks as the words ring in her ears. He moves his hands from her arms to wrap around her waist, pulling her closer.

"I mean it, Resa. I love you and I don't want to spend another second without you in it," he whispers as he rests his forehead against hers.

---

**A/N - **Confession time... I've never seen the pilot, which I've been told revolves quite heavily around Red John. I have no idea if any DNA has ever been recovered from any of his crime scenes, but I needed it to be for this to work.

Spoiler... if you don't already know, Agent Sam Glenn is supposed to be a new recurring character next season. From the spoilers, he will be heading the division in charge of the Red John cases. He was also Teresa Lisbon's former mentor and ex. I'm looking forward in seeing how Jane reacts to that last little tidbit.


	18. Obvious

**OBVIOUS**  
/_ˈ_äb-vē-əs/ adjective.  
Easily discovered, seen, or understood

Agents Kimball Cho, Wayne Rigsby, and Grace Van Pelt fidget nervously inside of CBI Department Chief Virgil Minelli's office.

"What's the pool up to now?" Virgil asks.

"Sir?" Grace stutters as Wayne chokes. Only Kimball remains impassive.

"Don't play coy with me. I know that you three have started a pool as to when Jane will ask Lisbon out. Now, I want to know what the kitty is up to."

Kimball clears his throat, "There's a fifty dollar buy in, sir. We're up to almost two grand."

Virgil nods appreciatively, "I hear that Agent Bosco has 'when hell freezes over.'"

Kimball nods, "That is correct, sir."

"Put me down for tomorrow," the older man declares.

"Are you sure about that, sir?" Wayne questions.

"Absolutely," Virgil smirks as he pulls the bill from his wallet and hands it Grace. "You're all dismissed now."

The trio leaves the chief's office in stunned silence and head back towards the bullpen. They are immediately assaulted with Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane's raucous return from questioning a suspect. It is the same argument as always, his unprofessionalism versus her will to be by-the-book, ending with the unapologetic shrug of his shoulders and distinct slam of her door. The three younger agents wonder what has gotten into the chief's mind to think that Patrick would be asking their boss out tomorrow.

Fifteen minutes before their shift ends, Patrick gets up from his couch to make his usual apology for causing her more paperwork. But he and the rest of the team are shocked when her door reopens before he is halfway through the bullpen and Teresa emerges wearing a black sheath and strappy heels. Her hair is slicked back into a ponytail, her eyes done up smokier, her lips redder.

"Where you off to, boss?" Wayne tries to ask nonchalantly. "You got a hot date tonight?"

Teresa cheeks pink slightly. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes. I do. Have a good night and I'll see you tomorrow," she says as she quickly heads towards the elevator.

Wayne, Kimball, and Grace watch in awe as she leaves them in her wake. It is only once she disappears into the tiny cubicle do they notice Patrick and the range of emotions flickering across his features. Grace smiles slightly as Kimball and Wayne groan at the loss of their money. The look on their consultant's face is of a man who finally realizes what is so obvious to everyone else; it is the look of a man finally coming to terms that he is in love.

---

**A/N - **Sorry I have not updated this in *cough cough* quite a while. It's just hard to want to write when there are so many other great stories on this site to get lost in. And yes, I think that this one is probably a little OOC.


	19. Oblivious

A prequel to **Obvious**...

**OBLIVIOUS**  
/_ˈ_äb-li-vē-əs/ adjective.  
Lacking active conscious knowledge or awareness

"Lisbon!" CBI Department Chief Virgil Minelli calls out to his favorite agent.

"Yea, boss?" she asks as she pokes her head into his office.

"Have you met my nephew Nick?" he asks as she strolls in.

"Um… No, I haven't," she says hesitantly, noticing the tall blonde man standing next to her boss.

"Ah," Virgil says. "Nick, Teresa. Teresa, Nick."

"Hi," they say to each other as they shake hands.

He looks over the woman who has grown to become another daughter to him. There are days that he finds it difficult to reconcile the timid rookie that she once was with the strong willed agent that she is today. He takes in the darkening circles under her eyes, the slightly paler pallor to her delicate skin. He knows that her team's current case is taxing on them, cases involving young children often do. But he sees that this one is affecting her harder than most.

"So, how's it going?" he asks Teresa.

"The case is-" Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon starts.

"No, no. Not the case. How are you?" he clarifies.

Teresa shrugs, trying to look indifferent to his question. "Fine, I guess," she answers casually. "Busy."

"But you're holding up okay?"

"Yes," she confirms.

Virgil nods, knowing that his next question is no doubt going to embarrass his favorite agent. "Lisbon, are you free tomorrow night?"

"What?" she sputters indignantly as her boss merely raises his eyebrows.

"This is shaping up to be quite a difficult case, Lisbon. You need to relax and let your mind at ease every once in a while or else this case and this job will consume you. You know that I think of you as family. I'm trying to look after you."

She sighs before answering. "Yes," she finally admits. "I'm free tomorrow night."

"Excellent. My wife and I have tickets for the opera, but we have to go to a charity event for the mayor tomorrow evening instead. We'd hate for the tickets to go to waste and since her dear nephew Nick here is in town from Pittsburgh, we thought that perhaps the two of you would like to go in our place."

Teresa's mind is racing though she is rendered speechless at the ambush. She should have seen this coming. Has working with Patrick Jane taught her nothing after all this time?

"You don't have to marry each other," Virgil rolls his eyes at Teresa and Nick's hesitance. "Just go to an opera together. Have dinner together. Forget about the rest of the messy crap going on in your lives for an evening. It's not rocket science, you two."

Nick catches Teresa's eye. "I'm game if Teresa is," he smiles.

She eyes her boss warily before nodding in consent. "Sure, why not?"

"Wonderful," Virgil booms. "Nick will pick you up here at five tomorrow night. Why don't the two of you go to lunch now so tomorrow won't be so awkward?"

Teresa and Nick cannot help but chuckle at his demeanor.

"Sandwiches okay?" Teresa asks as Virgil guides them towards the elevators.

Once the two are safely deposited into the cubicle, Virgil makes his way back past the Serious Crimes unit bullpen, where he notices an empty brown leather couch and Agents Kimball Cho and Wayne Rigsby, huddled around Grace Van Pelt's desk with her and a calendar murmuring.

"All of Narcotics are out," Wayne mumbles. "That's good. I can't stand those cowboys."

"I can't believe Bosco said 'when hell freezes over,'" Grace mutters. "How could Lisbon date a guy with absolutely no romantic bone in his body?"

Kimball scoffs, "And Jane is much better?"

"But it's so romantic," she sighs. "The way they interact with each other, it's obvious that they like each other."

"Yea, that's why you picked June 16, 2012," Kimball deadpans. "That's nearly three years from now."

"They only just caught Red John. I figure it will take a year or so for trial and sentencing. Then another year for Jane to realize and then act on his feelings," she defends huffily. "You know how stubborn that man can be."

An office pool, Virgil muses before leaving silently. For Jane and Lisbon. How could he have been so oblivious?


	20. Duty

**DUTY**  
/_ˈ_dü-tē/ noun.  
Obligatory tasks, conduct, service, or functions that arise from one's position (as in life or in a group).  
A moral or legal obligation.

They stare at each other, neither daring to breathe a word, unable to look away. This is not the way it is supposed to happen. This cannot be the way it ends. They wonder how it has come down to this, the two colleagues caught in a stalemate. Finally, he breaks the silence by letting the bloody knife fall from his hand with a loud clang on the concrete floor.

"I did it. I killed him."

She flinches as though he has slapped her. His blatant admission with no hint of remorse is more than she can bear. She should not be the one alone in this room with him. She knows that. She is too emotionally involved. She will only compromise the investigation. She wants to turn around and leave as though she has never arrived on scene and witnessed the grizzly struggle. But she cannot. She took an oath to protect and serve the people of the state of California. She has a duty to them to fulfill. She shakily replaces her gun into her holster.

"Agent Bosco's team will finish up in here," she says as she reaches for her handcuffs.

"Teresa," he pleads as she snaps the cold, hard metal against his wrists.

"Don't, Jane. You did what you thought was your duty. Now I just let me do mine," she whispers.

"He was coming after you, you know."

"Then you should have let him come," she says harshly. "Then we would have arrested him and put him behind bars instead of you."

"I'm sorry that you have to do this."

"Patrick Jane, you are under arrest for the murder of the serial killer known as Red John."


	21. Trust

**TRUST**  
/_ˈ_trəst/ noun.  
One in which confidence is placed.  
A charge or duty imposed in faith or confidence or as a condition of some relationship.

"Why can't you just drop it, Jane?" she asks exasperatedly as she slams her empty mug on the counter.

"Because I need you to trust me," he pleads to her, touching her shoulder lightly.

"Why?" she demands, turning to him. His hand still rests gently on her petite frame. "Tell me why it's so damn important to you. Why do you 'need' me to trust you?"

"Because that's what friends do. They trust each other," he explains matter-of-factly before flashing his famously wide grin.

She rolls her eyes at him before turning away to fill her mug with hot coffee. She shrugs his hand off of her shoulder. "That's right, Jane. But we're not friends. We will never be friends."

Patrick Jane is taken aback from her harsh words. Never? The conviction in her voice as she uttered the statement disconcerts him greatly.

"We're co-workers," Teresa Lisbon continues. "I am your boss, you are my consultant. We work together. We are nothing more than that."

Quickly composing himself, Patrick concludes solemnly. "Well, we must remedy that. What would it take for me to gain your friendship – and your trust?"

Teresa suppresses a snort. She shakes her head in disbelief as she heads back towards her office, Patrick quickly following her. He ignores the chuckles and knowing glances from agents Grace Van Pelt, Wayne Rigsby, and Kimball Cho.

"I'm serious, Lisbon," he says as he quietly shuts her door behind him. "I want to remedy this fracture in our already fragile relationship."

She leans back in her chair, eyeing him carefully as she plays with her mug. "Fine," she finally shrugs before taking a sip. "Tell me one true thing."

"Just one?"

She nods.

"Okay… The hugely popular 'Twilight' series was written by a woman who has never read 'Dracula'."

"See?" Teresa smirks. "You can't even take this seriously even though you instigated this conversation. Plus, you can't even tell me one truth about yourself. You're an enigma wrapped in allusions and diversions."

"That's not true," Patrick protests. "I've told you one truth. I told you about… well, you know."

"Yes," Teresa agrees. "One truth that I nearly had to torture out of you. And I thanked you for your honesty then. But other than that, I know absolutely nothing about you. You've told me nothing else."

"Meh," he waves her off. "You already know plenty about me. You've read my file."

"I shouldn't have to if we're friends," she points out, leaning forward. "Look, you may say that you trust people and that you trust me, but we both know that that's not true. I understand that you're still grieving for your wife and child. And deny it all you want, but I know that you're afraid to let anyone close to you until Red John is caught out of fear that they'll be violently taken away from you. You're trying to protect yourself and those around you. But the fact is, Jane, that until you can open up and actually trust the people you are trying to protect, like me, then I can't trust you. I'm sorry, but trust is earned, not given away."

"You'd think that killing Dumar Hardy for your life would have done something about your trust issues in me, Lisbon," he muses.

"I thank you for choosing me over Hardy, Jane. I truly do. And if it ever comes down to Red John or me, I hope that I can trust you to make the same decision. But you're too much of a loose cannon, Jane."

"I see," he nods as there is a timid knock on her door.

"Boss? Jane? We got a case," Kimball says as he pokes his head in briefly.

"Thanks, Cho," Teresa says as she stands. "We'll be right out. Ready, Jane?"

"I will win your trust, Lisbon," he declares as they exit her office.

"I hope you do," she smiles. "I hope you do."


	22. Desire

**DESIRE**  
/di-_ˈ_zī(-ə)r/ verb.  
To long or hope for : exhibit or feel desire for.  
To feel the loss of.

It was an affair neither intended to happen – especially him. But he could not deny that he enjoyed the attention she gave him. How he relished basking in her glow. How feelings he thought dead and gone stirred inside whenever she smiled at him. He had to possess her. She had to be his.

And she was.

For all too short of a period in his life, he knew what it felt like to be loved unconditionally when he captured Teresa Lisbon's heart.

He knew that was wrong to entice the agent. But wasn't she doing the same to him? With her translucent skin, her bright green eyes, her vivacious personality? Wasn't she trying to ensnare and entrap him? He knew she was not – at least, not intentionally, but he could not help himself.

His wife and child were gone; there was nothing he could do that would bring them back. He dealt with the pain by throwing himself into his work to forget. He plastered a well adjusted mask onto his face. His smiles were always wide, though the light never seemed to reach his eyes. He hid and spent long hours in the office alone, thinking no one noticed. Then one night, she stayed behind and lent him her ear.

Just a simple gesture and he was hooked.

He found comfort in her. She gave him peace and solace. She became the rock that he desperately clung to in times of despair. He did not expect to fall in love with her. He did not mean to become infatuated and intoxicated by her. He never wanted to hurt her. But he knows that he did.

Senior Agent Sam Bosco cannot suppress the anger that boils near the surface as he watches Patrick Jane interact with her. He wants to punch the blond consultant for constantly mocking her and undermining her authority. Doesn't he know how special his peanut buttercup is?

There are times when he wonders what could have been if he had not reconciled with his wife. Would they be happy? Would they have married? Had kids? He does not doubt that she will someday make a terrific mother. He believes that the love within her is endless. He tries not to dwell on thoughts of her, but he dreams anyway with his heart still and always desiring her.


End file.
